with regret

sharing oneself with the world is not fulfilling as once was. all the words converge into stories and yet stories feel biased in a rudimentary construct. convoluted noises unpublished remains popular with one's heart. perhaps it is another day, another person to flesh out the intricacies of a passing moment. perhaps one will return to his roots and hope for the best.

happy thoughts

it has been a while,

the circus had to end some time.

the longing, the pineing, the helplessly hopeful,

dangerously so.

to know that a person is happier after all this time,

is a reality that brings sobering to even the most pompous fool.

to guess that a life could be so complete without another's touch and scars.

it brings tears of joy, yet in joy there is only envy. in envy, perhaps other more sinister emotions beget the serenity of the mind.

nonetheless in peace we march towards,

for happiness is relative.

what couldn't be will always hanker for the mind,

but in truth it lies only emptiness;

for achievements are only as important as they are impossible.

i wouldn't call love an achievement though.

too much tears have been shed..

too many sleepless seasons..

love gained is not merely an achievement,

it is a drug.

hence do not be kind to a hopeless heart,

unless it is deserving.

for that's the only way for a drug to sustain.

what's started cannot be extinguished.

choose wisely ol' brain and heart. shiver me timbers.